George hadn't always felt like this.
He remembered a time when each day was something to look forward to – a new prank to pull, a new joke to try out.
But now…now every day was a trial – every passing minute felt like an hour, dragging by so lonely and slow that he couldn't imagine it ever getting better.
But sometimes she was there, and she would look at him over the top of her book, her bushy hair twisted back and secured with a quill, and she would smile the most gentle smile.
And sometimes, just sometimes, he felt like maybe it was okay to be happy again.
It had been so strange to him at first, that Hermione had been the one he turned to. They had been friendly in school – not friends, really, but they had been around each other quite often because of Ron. But when he needed someone who wasn't related to him to turn to, Hermione had been there. While Molly reverted to treating him like a child, Arthur spent most of his time in his shed full of Muggle things, and George's brothers tiptoed around him like he were made of the most delicate glass, Hermione let him grieve. She didn't crowd him, she didn't treat him differently, she was just there for him, and words could not express how grateful he was for that.
The first time she had made him laugh – nearly ten months after Fred's death – had come as such a shock to him. He hadn't laughed, had barely even smiled, for so long that he had almost forgotten what it felt like. He couldn't recall what she had said, but the soft smile that his laugh had brought to her lips was imprinted on his mind forever.
She had moved in with him two years later. They weren't together, they both insisted, but they had grown so close that they spent nearly every evening together anyways, and they were both lonely, so it only made sense.
George stubbornly ignored the sly glances from his mother every time she saw them together.
It had been little things at first – he started to notice how she twisted her hair in a bun and stuck a quill through it when she was focusing on something, how she hummed under her breath without seeming to realize it, and how she always had to have a mug of tea in the evenings before bedtime. He started to notice how the air always smelled faintly floral when she left the room, and how even though she was meticulously neat with almost everything else, her fingers and hands usually had splotches of ink on them.
Once he started to notice these things, of course, it was impossible to not notice them. And soon all he could do was notice these little quirks that made her so veryHermione.
It had been easy enough to dismiss her in school. All she had been to him then was Ron's friend. In fact, everyone in the Weasley family had thought that Hermione and Ron would end up together eventually. But Lavender's brush with death during the battle at Hogwarts had made Ron realize how much he actually liked her, and the flame from their sixth year had been rekindled. Hermione hadn't seemed to mind, though, and lately George had found himself strangely relieved that their seemingly inevitable romance hadn't panned out.
A year after she moved in, George brought forward the suggestion that Hermione help him out with the shop. Lee had been co-owner since Fred died, but had had to quit after marrying Angelina Johnson and moving to Bulgaria for Angelina's Quidditch career. The shop was doing too well for George to manage on his own, and Hermione had been expressing her unhappiness with her job at the Ministry, so it seemed only logical that she work with him.
They had been working in the back room together when she had kissed him.
It had been accidental at first. They had been putting the finishing touches on a particularly tricky product, and when, with bated breath, they had tested it and it had turned out successful, they had both cheered and jumped up and down like children. Hermione had thrown her arms around his neck and gone to kiss his cheek at the same time George had turned to hug her, and their lips had ended up brushing. It wasn't even much of a kiss, but the shock of it had frozen them both on the spot. To his surprise, Hermione had been the one to move first. She was hesitant, cautious, and she softly brushed her lips against his again, not quite kissing him. He responded with equal caution, bringing one hand up to rest on her arm, inviting but not pulling her closer.
She had taken his invitation and stepped forward, tightening her arms around him, her fingers twining around the hair at the base of his neck, and brushing her lips against his, more firmly this time, almost a proper kiss. George wrapped his own arms around her waist, feeling her comforting warmth, her floral scent invading his nostrils. He had kissed her back properly then, one hand coming up to tangle in her curly brown hair that he loved so much. It seemed that the simple act of kissing had let loose something in both of them that neither of them had been aware of until then.
When they finally pulled away, Hermione had giggled, her cheeks flushed a delicate rosy red. She reached up to smooth her hair with one hand, bringing the other down to lace her fingers with his.
George laughed, and it felt so good.
It was pointless trying to hide their new status – whatever it was – from the Weasleys. The first family dinner they had gone to, Molly had honed in on something that only a mother could pick up, and the secret was out. George and Hermione weren't even sure whether or not they were officially a couple, but they were certainly something.
They were good for each other, everyone agreed. She made him happier than anyone thought he could ever be after his twin died, and he brought out the mischievous streak that the studious bookworm so desperately needed.
And, a year later, it came as no surprise to anyone when George's proposal involved the most spectacular fireworks display any of them had ever seen.